In the Prefect's Bathroom
by Ms-Figg
Summary: Hermione goes into the Prefect's bathroom to enjoy a luxury bathing experience, but she's interrupted and has to hide. Adult/sexual content, graphic descriptions.
1. Intruder

**In the Prefect's Bathroom  
**  
The door to the softly-lit bathroom opened for a moment, then closed gently. At first it seemed the wind had somehow blown it inward, but then Hermione Granger pulled off Harry's Invisibility Cloak, looked around the white marble bathroom, and smiled.

She was dressed in a bathrobe and furry slippers. A large towel was tucked under her arm. She looked up at the splendid candle-filled chandelier which spread a beautiful flicker glow, then at the long, linen curtains hanging at the windows. An enormous pile of fluffy white towels rested in a corner. She hadn't known those were there, or she wouldn't have brought her own.

What dominated this bathroom was the tub. It was like a rectangular swimming pool sunk into the middle of the floor. Almost a hundred golden spigots, each encrusted with a different colored jewel ringed the pool's edge, and there was a diving board at one end. On the wall was a gold-framed painting of a sleeping blonde mermaid. She was resting on a rock and her long hair covered her face, fluttering every time she breathed out.

Hermione had heard about the Prefect's Bathroom, but this was the first time she'd ever entered it. It was the ultimate in luxury bathing. She put down the towel and cloak by the edge of the pool, knelt and turned on a couple of the spigots. She immediately could tell they all had different kinds of bubble bath coming out of them. Some foamy, some with huge multicolored bubbles and one sent lovely clouds floating over the pool.

Suddenly, Hermione thought she heard something. She quickly turned off the taps and ran to the large stack of towels and hid behind them. She'd left the towel and the cloak by the far end of the pool. She hoped whoever was outside didn't notice. She drew back as the door opened, then peeked out and turned ashen.

It was Professor Snape, dressed in a black housecoat and slippers. He had a Slytherin green towel tucked under his arm. He stopped for a moment and looked around the marble bathroom suspiciously. Hermione closed her eyes and held her breath, praying he wouldn't be able to smell her with his huge honker. Snape's eyes narrowed as they fell on the towel and crumpled up fabric next to it at the far end of the pool, but he didn't go to investigate. He probably thought someone left the items there. He looked down at the wetness in the tub, cocking his head for a moment, then looked around again. Clouds were dissipating over the pool itself.

Snape stood there a moment, then put down his own towel, knelt and turned on a spigot. Then he deliberately walked down a ways and turned another on. This was followed by one more spigot. He stood there, staring down at the pool as it quickly filled. It had to be enhanced by magic.

Hermione opened her eyes and peeked out again. The professor was standing with his back to her, looking down into the pool. She could see his legs. They were slender, pale and sparsely covered with black hair. He stepped out of his slippers and she drew back a little. Then she peeked out again and covered her mouth as he let his robe slide down his arms and drop to the floor.

Snape was naked, and Hermione couldn't seem to take her eyes off of him. She should have been mortified, but curiosity coursed through her. He was very lean, and his back—scarred. But his buttocks were tight with little indentations and the back of his legs, sinewy. He had black hair on his arms, too. Hermione stared at him, willing him to turn. But Snape didn't turn. He walked around to the spigots, turning them off, but his thigh was in the way and she couldn't see his goods. But he moved just as gracefully naked as he did in his robes. There was a strength to his slight build.

Hermione felt herself getting a bit warm.

Suddenly, Snape dove into the pool with hardly a splash, reappearing a distance away in the shallow part, rising covered in foamy bubbles. He was facing her now, suds and water running down his body, but she still couldn't see all of him. But he had a surprisingly attractive body, despite the scars on his back and—his belly and chest. His hair was plastered to his head and he walked back into the deep end and cut easily through the water, swimming about, the steam rising, partially hiding him from view.

Finally, he began to bathe. Hermione couldn't tell where the washcloth came from, but he moved it over his pale body slowly, almost sensually, his eyes closed. He was facing her again, but the water came up to his waist, so she still couldn't see anything.

"Move to the shallower part," she thought, dying to see everything. There was a fine line of pubic hair leading down his lower belly into the water, but his chest was hairless. She watched him bathe for twenty minutes before he exited the pool, lifting the towel and drying himself carefully. But something was always in the way of the goodies. His leg, the towel, the way he turned his body. It was frustrating. How could she be a peeping Thomasina if she had nothing to peek at? Snape wrapped the towel around his waist, tucking it in, then looked directly at the stack of towels.

Hermione nearly gasped and jerked her head back.

"I know you're there," Snape's voice said softly.

Oh no!

* * *

A/N: Just a little something I wrote based on this pic I saw online yesterday. FF doesn't let me put links in, but if you google "ms-figg livejournal" and scroll down to the entry that says "Good lord, Look at this Picture of Snape" you'll see the link.


	2. Ouid Pro Quo

**Chapter 2 ~ Quid Pro Quo**

Hermione hung back, her heart pounding.

"Come out, Miss Granger—Hermione," Snape called. "Don't make me retrieve you."

Stunned that he knew who she was, as well as his use of her given name, Hermione emerged from behind the stack of towels, red-faced and unnecessarily holding the front of her tied robe closed with both hands.

Snape watched her approach, expressionless. He didn't seem to be the least put out that all he wore was a towel wrapped low around his hips.

"How—how did you know it was me?" Hermione asked, her voice barely above a whisper as she stared at his naked chest and belly. Snape's mouth quirked slightly.

"Simple deduction. I knew someone was in here because the pool and spigots were wet, and the clouds were still evaporating. I knew that someone was hiding behind the towels because there is no other place here capable of hiding anyone. And I knew it was you because I saw Potter's Invisibility Cloak and smelled jasmine. The jasmine spigot isn't wet from back splash. Who would Potter give his father's cloak to that smelled of jasmine other than you?"

"I—I didn't mean to spy," Hermione said, reddening.

"You didn't mean to get caught in the Prefect's bathroom," Snape corrected her. "Now, let's see how many points I can deduct here, making a generous allowance, of course, for Slytherin gaining the House Cup—"

"Hey—" Hermione started to protest.

Snape frowned at her.

"You are in no position to argue, Hermione," the wizard snapped before continuing. "Now—out after curfew, found in a restricted area, concealing one's self from an authority figure, ogling said authority figure—"

"Ogling? I wasn't ogling you!" Hermione lied, reddening.

"You were most certainly ogling me," Snape said calmly. "It was hard work keeping you from seeing the Full Monty."

"What? I didn't want to see—"

"Move to the shallower part," Snape purred at her, repeating her thought out loud.

Hermione felt dizzy for a moment.

"I didn't say that," she said in a quavering voice.

"No, but you clearly thought it."

"You don't know that."

"I do. I used Legilimency."

"You couldn't have. You have to make eye contact to do that."

"I didn't make eye contact with you, but you made it with me even though I didn't clearly see you. It was enough to make the connection—"

"But you didn't say—"

"Non-verbal and wandless magic, Hermione," Snape said with a hint of disdain. "What do you think I am? A seventh year? How do you think I saved myself in the Shrieking Shack with no wand and my vocal cords damaged by the depth of Nagini's bite?"

Hermione didn't answer him. She felt rather stupid. Snape's dark eyes drifted up her robe consideringly. She had it grasped so tightly, her knuckles were whitened.

"You're going to cost Gryffindor quite a number of points," he said quietly.

"Oh, don't, professor," Hermione pleaded with him.

Snape studied her.

"Perhaps a bit of Quid Pro Quo is in order," he said slowly.

"Quid Pro Quo?" Hermione repeated rather hollowly.

"Yes," Snape replied, his mouth quirking again. "You watched me bathe. I think you should return the favor."

"What?"

"I happen to enjoy watching an attractive female form as well," the wizard said softly. "A woman's body is an amazing thing. Arousing, functional, a thing of beauty in all stages of maturity, in all its many shapes and forms. Large or small, it is a wonder I take much pleasure in viewing. I believe your indulgence will effectively wipe this—error in judgment away, Hermione."

"You want to see me naked?" Hermione asked him, a battalion of dragons rising in her belly, their tails tickling just a little lower.

"I want more than that. I want to watch you bathe—watch you go about your normal activities when you cleanse yourself. It is—beautiful to watch a woman do that, to prepare her body, to make it—pristine."

Snape's eyes glittered.

"If I do this, you won't take away any points?" Hermione asked him for clarification.

"No, you will return to Gryffindor tower with points intact," Snape responded. "Possibly several more points than you arrived with if I am pleased."

Hermione blinked at him. Was he attempting to bribe her to see her body? Gods, he looked so hot standing there in nothing but a towel, watching her and waiting for an answer.

Hermione suddenly felt very naughty. She really shouldn't do it. She should take her point loss. Of course, she could report Snape but it would be her word against his and he'd come out on top, being he was a teacher and caught her dead to rights. Plus, she didn't want anyone to know she had been ogling him.

"All right. I'll do it, professor," she said softly, walking past him.

Hermione stood before the pool, her eyes resting on the still steaming water, aware of Snape behind her, watching silently. Taking a quiet breath, she untied the sash to her robe, then let it slide down her arms to the floor, revealing her body.

Snape's black eyes drank in the sight of her soft shoulders, the delicate blades of her upper back, thin like bird musculature, the slight curvature of her spine and the tapering of her waist. The subtle flare of her hips, the fullness of her rounded buttocks and slight thickness of her thighs were a work of art.

Hermione stood there a moment, a delicious feeling thrumming inside her until it became unbearable.

Then, she dove into the water.

* * *

A/N: Just a little more. :)


	3. Worthy of Worship

**Chapter 3 ~ Worthy of Worship**

Snape watched as Hermione emerged from beneath the water, swimming strongly, her hair in wet ringlets, dark against her head and shoulders, her bum and thighs, glistening and shifting beneath the sheen of the water as she kicked toward the shallows, white bubbles running down her skin. She reached her destination and stood up facing away from him, water streaming down her back, only the dimpled cleft of her arse visible as she stood a little less than waist deep.

She brushed the water from her face, then reached behind her head and gathered her hair, drawing her hands down, wringing the water from her dark, curly tresses.

"Turn around," Snape thought, twin images of the naked witch mirrored in his eyes.

Hermione looked over her shoulder at him, her brown eyes taking him in as he watched her, unmoving, his face bearing no evidence of what he thought or felt. She turned quickly, diving back in, giving him only a glimpse of her shimmering full breasts as she sliced through the water again, heading for the far end of the pool.

Snape continued to watch her as she swam luxuriously, arriving at the end of the pool, turning and resting against it, her breasts floating just below the waterline. He could see the luscious swell of them as Hermione once again wiped the streaming water from her face, her belly aflutter as the eyes of the wizard rested on her.

She saw the washcloth he had used, resting a short distance away on the edge of the tub. She swam over and retrieved the green, wet square of fabric, then headed once again to the shallow end, Snape's eyes glued to her.

Hermione found her footing and stood up, this time facing him, the water lapping around her waist as she slowly and carefully began to bathe, drawing the cloth over her face, neck and shoulders, the water still frothy, still sudsy, careening down her skin, between her breasts and over her belly to the water below.

Snape walked closer and sat down at the edge of the pool at the deeper end, his feet dangling in the water, the towel still around his waist, a willing audience to her ablutions. He watched as she lifted one arm, running the cloth over and beneath it, then around her breast. Even from his vantage point, he could see the hardened tips dripping water.

She performed the same ritual on her other arm, then slowly ran the cloth over her breasts, closing her eyes as the wet and water rolled over them. They felt so sensitive. She washed her belly with slow, even caresses, and began moving toward the shallow part, revealing more flesh that was hidden below the water line. Unlike Snape, she didn't keep her body underwater. Her pubic hair slipped into view, droplets of water adorning it like diamonds as she washed the tops of her thighs.

Snape was silent, only his Adam's apple displaying any movement as it rose and fell in reaction to the beauty before him, Hermione leaning forward to wash her legs, her breasts like perfectly shaped pendulums, pointing toward the water and swinging slightly. She rinsed the cloth, the same cloth that had run over his body, then turned her back to him, pulling her hair out of the way and flinging the washcloth over her back, catching the end of it and drawing it back and forth, not missing any of her soft skin. Snape's eyes rested on the delicious swell of her buttocks, how they rose like plump pillows at the base of her spine, full, soft, alluring curves. She soaped each one, the flesh jiggling from her touch, depressing and springing back. Snape continued to watch, saying nothing as Hermione turned around, her eyes half lidded as she spread her stance and drew the cloth between her thighs, using her fingers gently to clean her sex.

Snape sat there a few seconds more before lowering himself into the water, towel and all. It lifted, floating slightly as he first swam, then walked toward her, the fabric becoming heavier and heavier with liquid until it tore away. He stopped waist deep in the water, the liquid gently lapping around him as he looked at Hermione, who was only ankle deep.

"You are lovely," he said softly. "Looking at you makes me glad I'm a man, Hermione Granger. You make me feel—Life."

"Life?" she repeated, aware of his nakedness and of the answering thrill of her own body. She didn't feel self-conscious standing naked before him. There was something in his eyes and his demeanor that made this feel—right. Whether it was or not.

"Yes, life. You are life, Hermione. You are representative of creation, perfection, oneness. You're a woman, and every man in this world enters by your kind. And almost every man is drawn back to that Life giving force, a magnet to that power, longing to return to the well of Life, the connection, the wholeness that lies between your thighs.

"Many men believe women to be—weak. Subordinate. Secondary. But woman is a mystery. Every man owes his life to a woman, but where Woman comes from, no man knows. A rib? Hardly."

Snape's voice had a hypnotizing effect on Hermione as he spoke to her, praising her and her attributes.

"A woman is the closest thing to a Divine Creator on earth. She creates form from formless in the course of nine months. There is a reason the ninth letter of the alphabet is the letter 'I.' It is how we identify ourselves after entering this world by way of a mother. You are beauty beyond beauty. You are life, the giver of life and if there is anything in this world worthy of being worshipped—it's you. Never let anyone, particularly a man, tell you anything different."

"Oh, professor," Hermione said softly to the man in front of her standing waist deep in water, his dark eyes full of passion. She felt so drawn to him. She wanted to wade back into the deep end of the pool and go to him.

Snape stood there a moment more, then began to back up, the water rising higher around his body as he retreated from Hermione. She watched him, an awful feeling of emptiness replacing the thrill his proximity had brought her. Suddenly, he began to swim toward the far end of the pool.

Hermione hesitated, then slowly walked forward a ways. Snape turned on his back, and for the first time Hermione saw his pale organ, lifted partially from his body, semi-erect and rising from a nest of silken black hair as he backstroked lazily in the warm, deep water. Then he turned over again, his tight buttocks and back flexing as he reached the end of the pool and rested against it, looking at her, his face expressionless again.

Hermione looked at him, then slowly walked forward, the water rising around her body until she was neck deep.

Unable to help herself, she began to swim toward the Potions master.

* * *

A/N: Just a little more, and a bit of esoteric brouhaha I'd studied a while back concerning the true place of women in the universe. I remember pissing a lot of guys off with this outlook, claiming that woman was the true representation of a creator on earth. Lol.


	4. A Candid Conversation

**Chapter 4 ~ A Candid Conversation**

Snape watched as Hermione slowly swam toward him. He rested his back against the pool, holding on to the edge with one hand, treading water lightly as she approached. She stopped about eight feet away, treading water as well.

There was a heavy silence between them, a silence that could hold and swallow the entire world, a silence seeming too large for words to adequately fill. But Hermione wanted, needed to say something. Not knowing what to say exactly or how to continue, she went with a question. It was a weak question, but maybe he would answer it and titillate her a little more.

"You worship women, Professor?" Hermione asked him.

"In those rare moments, yes. But—usually from afar. Women are worthy of worship but most aren't aware of it," he said softly. "They underestimate themselves, or don't understand what it is, or worse, reject it when it is offered."

Snape's face contorted slightly.

"But—you are worshipped, aren't you? The entire wizarding world is at your feet. You are one of the Golden Trio, the brilliant witch that helped to destroy Voldemort. People stop you in the street for autographs. Your presence is wanted at special events and occasions. Fans send you owls, gifts, letters—even marriage proposals. Wherever you go in the wizarding world, you are noticed, praised, revered, almost as much as Potter. You should be familiar with worship. So many people lust after you, your brilliance, your heroism. It must feel good to be so—wanted and admired."

Hermione colored slightly. Although Snape had said nothing scathing, she felt, she felt rather shallow and undeserving. She knew why. It was because despite all Snape had done over the years, his only reward was barely escaping Azkaban and retaining his position at Hogwarts. That, and the scars on his body. Because his work had been behind the scenes, there was no one to bring Snape's sacrifices to light. His true role was ambivalent at best as far at the public was concerned. Add that he was so dark and severe and continued to shun attention; he was nearly a non-entity as far as fame went. He was more—infamous than famous. The man who killed Albus Dumbledore, tormented Harry Potter, served Voldemort and got away with it.

"Not so good," she said softly. "These people don't know me. They know of me. What I did. If I hadn't done what I did, and been with Harry, I'd just be another over-achieving Muggle-born out to prove herself. They could care less who I am as a person as long as—as long as I have fame, as if, as if it could rub off if they're in contact with me. Sometimes—sometimes I wish—"

Hermione's voice trailed off and she looked upward, her eyes shifting to the right to stem the wetness filling her eyes. She blinked rapidly.

"Sometimes you wish," Snape said softly, still treading water, the soft lighting in the room reflected in his dark eyes, "Sometimes you wish they would just see you."

"Yes," Hermione said in a hushed voice.

The water in the pool lapped gently, filling the silence for a moment before Snape spoke again to the witch bobbing in front of him.

"Surely, there is someone who sees you for you, Hermione. Your beau. Ronald Weasley," he responded. "He is—he is your wizard. Your love—even before you became famous—"

"Ron?" Hermione said, her voice breaking a bit. "Ron—Ron and I are seeing other people. We—we still go out, but it's an open relationship. He felt that we were too young to make a serious decision about our future together. That we should 'explore our options.'"

"I imagine this 'open relationship' began after the fame set in," Snape said flatly.

"Yes."

"And after you—physically expressed your attraction to each other."

Hermione's brown eyes filled again. She didn't answer him. There was no need to answer a question Snape already knew the answer to.

"No. I was mistaken, Hermione," Snape said quietly. "You don't know what it is to be worshipped. You have no concept—of your own worth without another to validate you, without another to measure yourself against. You have no idea that you—are without measure. You always have been."

Hermione felt a tightness in her throat at his statement. She slowly swam a little ways down, then joined him at the side of the pool, keeping the cushion of space between them and staying low in the water so only her shoulders and the swell of her breasts were visible. But Snape could still see the outline of her body, rounded, soft, beautiful, her wet, tangled hair dark and untamed as she turned her brown eyes on him. She held on to the side of the pool, nearly matching his motions as they tread water.

"What—"

"Odd duck!" Snape suddenly hissed at her. "Walking brain! Nightmare! Show-off! Teacher's Pet! Mudblood!"

Hermione physically recoiled from the Potions master as he hissed those hated, well-known words at her. They still stung, still made her stomach feel full of lead and achy.

"The yardstick. The stones," Snape said softly. "Those words. They measured and they hurt. They still do, don't they? Even though you no longer hear them, they sting. Because they still have a hold on you, in here."

Snape placed his hand flatly on his pale chest.

"There are no more perils to hide behind, nothing to shield you or validate you day to day. Soon, you'll graduate and the walls of Hogwarts will no longer protect you. Ah, fame, your fame will be a cushion, but you have already seen the folly and falseness of that, haven't you? No one sees you, and what is sadder, Hermione Granger, you don't see yourself."

Hermione's lower lip trembled.

"It's a pity you don't have my eyes," Snape said softly.

Suddenly, the wizard grasped the edge of the pool with his other hand, and slid out of the water, liquid coursing down his body and limbs, rivulets streaming into his pubic hair and down the length of his foreskin before dripping to the marble tile as he stood up.

Snape looked down at Hermione for a moment as her eyes took his nudity in, then he turned and walked over to the pile of towels, plucking one from the top, and toweling off his hair, neck, shoulders and finally, his body.

It was clear he was leaving.

Again, a feeling of emptiness filled Hermione as he withdrew. This had been so intimate, so eye-opening. The professor was so—

"Wait!" Hermione called out, turning and hoisting herself out of the pool to her knees and rising. She stood there, water streaming over the curves of her body, Snape's dark eyes resting on it. Hermione saw a slight twitch in his nether regions before he turned his back to her, continuing to dry himself.

"I should go, Hermione. Thank you for indulging me. Ten points to Gryffindor," he said tightly as he drew the absorbent towel down one arm and then the other. Hermione's brown eyes rested on the scars on his back. There were so many, but they weren't repulsive. Not at all.

"Please, wait, Professor," she said again. "I want—I want to keep talking to you. I—I don't get much of a chance to talk—not about anything—important."

Snape half looked at her over his shoulder as he once again wrapped a towel around his waist.

"The time for talk is over, Hermione. I've already said too much concerning you," he replied softly, turning and heading for his discarded robe.

Hermione watched him walk past her, desperation rising in her belly. No. He couldn't leave—

"But, I want to know—" she said in a heavy voice as Snape released the drain to empty the pool before picking up and shaking out his robe.

"You want to know what?" he asked, ready to slip one arm into the sleeve.

"I want to know what it is to be—worshipped," Hermione said, her voice slightly strained.

Snape stopped what he was doing and looked at Hermione.

"By you," she added softly.

* * *

A/NL Just a little more. The twins will be here at 6 am in about 15 minutes. I will be spending Thanksgiving babysitting. I wanted to leave y'all something nice and tantalizing for the day. I hope you all have a wonderful Thanksgiving. Oh, and that wonderful picture of Snape is called: This "Adorable Snape" and was made by ~Mrs-Severus-Snape aka Missy. ***


	5. Expectations

**Chapter 5 ~ Expectations**

"Hermione, what you are suggesting crosses the boundaries of a teacher/student relationship," Snape replied. "I am supposed to teach you—protect you—not—"

Snape's voice went a bit raw.

"Not 'worship' you," he concluded for lack of a better word.

"I want to know what it's like, what you mean by worship, professor. It would be teaching—in a way," Hermione said softly.

"We've already gone too far," Snape said. "I don't think it wise, Hermione."

He slipped his arm into one robe sleeve and then the other. Hermione watched as he tied the sash, her belly tight with disappointment. She walked toward him and Snape momentarily closed his eyes against her.

"I thought you said I was beautiful. I thought—you thought I was special."

Snape's dark eyes opened, first resting on her wet hair, then her face. Her brown eyes were hard, almost angry as she stood there, nude and still glistening from the water. A droplet slowly coursed down her temple and he fought the urge to retrieve it with the tip of his tongue.

"You are. And I do. You have always been special."

"I don't feel special. I feel like—like I'm a fraud," she blurted out. "And—and I'm scared everyone will find out that I'm not this fantastic person they've made me out to be. That there's nothing more to me than books and—and dumb luck. Even Ron finds me dull—and he knows me. Why else would he want to see other witches? And I'm standing here naked in front of you, and even you don't want me."

Snape shook his head slowly.

"It's not that I don't want you, Hermione. But, engaging you would bring complications. You are my student. To engage a stu—"

"I wouldn't be your student right now if not for the final battle. I'd be out of Hogwarts. I'm going to be twenty years old this year. I'm not a child—and—and—"

Hermione's voice faltered—

"For once in my life, I'd like to feel truly special. I'd like to feel the way you say I am—worthy to be worshipped, just because I'm me. Not a brain, not a hero—just me. I've never told anyone that before."

Snape just looked at her, the blank expression once again on his pale face. Suddenly, Hermione felt very ashamed of herself, and visibly wilted before Snape. She was begging him to shag her because of her low self-esteem and need for validation. And probably because of Ron, too. It was clear she was no longer attractive to him. She just wanted to be wanted by someone. How pitiful was that?

Hermione looked down at the floor, feeling as if she were less than nothing.

"I'm sorry," she whispered. "I know I'm—I shouldn't have tried to make you do this."

Hermione turned and walked back to the towels, her entire body colored pink with shame. With her back to Snape, she picked one up and began to dry her hair. Snape watched as she tossed it to one side and caught it between the fabric, stroking downward to pull away the water, the tangles turning to waves. He watched the flexing of her shoulder bones, the curving of her spine, the way her body shifted subtly, still beautiful in the soft light.

He could also feel her sadness and her shame. She had nothing to be ashamed of. Everyone wanted to feel appreciated.

Her eyes wet, Hermione continued drying her hair, but she was listening closely for the door to open and close. For Snape to leave.

"My form of worship is most likely quite different than what you've experienced with Weasley," a soft voice suddenly said in her ear.

Hermione turned and found herself standing very close to Snape. His discarded robe was crumpled on the floor, next to the pool. Her breasts were only inches from his bare chest as he looked down at her.

"Professor—" she began.

"Sshh. I need you to listen, so you understand me and know what to expect from me," Snape said quietly, taking one of her hands in his, then gently caressing the knuckles before bringing the back of her hand to his lips and resting it against them.

He kissed the knuckle of her index finger tenderly, surrounding it with his warm mouth and suckling it gently before moving up her finger to the next knuckle and kissing it. He then moved to the top knuckle and repeated the kiss, turning her hand slightly. He then kissed the tops of all four fingers and turned her palm to face him. He pressed his lips to the fleshy mound beneath the thumb, his mouth moist and warm against the inner skin.

Hermione stared at him, her mouth slightly parted and eyes half lidded as kissed her palm several times, slowly and sensually, his fingers caressing the back of her hand until he ended his ministrations with a gentle kiss on her wrist.

"Oh—" Hermione breathed up at him as the corner of his mouth curved and pleasure flitted in his eyes. Gods, that was the sexiest, hottest thing she had ever felt.

Even if Snape didn't see the obvious desire in Hermione's eyes, he had felt the quickened pulse of her blood beneath his lips when they were pressed to the veins of her delicate wrist.

"I am slow," he said to her softly. "I don't rush. I savor. For this reason I have had few satisfying encounters—"

Hermione suddenly closed her mouth, aware that she was probably very lacking in sexual skills. She hadn't had a lot of practice. Maybe she wouldn't satisfy him.

"But, the reason they didn't satisfy me was because the scant partners I had were too impatient, and too—aggressive. I derive my pleasure from giving pleasure, not domination. I have little desire to put my—my cock in any place other than where it was meant to go. My mouth and my hands do all the other—exploring," he said softly. "I love the scent and feel and taste of a woman. I worship the landscape of her body, especially the parts taken for granted, like the crook of her arm, or the sensitive flesh of her armpit—the back of her knees, the sweep of her spine, the curve of her ankle, the arch of her foot—so many special places generally ignored."

"You don't like blowjobs?" Hermione asked him, surprised.

"I've had them, but it depends. They aren't necessary with me. As I said, I derive my pleasure by giving pleasure. You will have to be—patient with me. I am not the kind of wizard that goes hard and fast. I am slow. Easy."

Hermione was once again mesmerized. The way he described his technique was—was so different than what she believed wizards wanted during sex.

"It's the only time I can turn away from harshness," Snape continued softly. "The only time I can feel some physical semblance of tender connection in my life. Many women don't understand that need. They feel a man must pummel them to near unconsciousness to prove he's a man. I prefer to hear a woman sigh her pleasure than to screech it. I prefer to know her climax is a result of artful application, rather than beaten out of her. That brings me satisfaction. Unfortunately—it also makes the majority of women feel I'm not—good."

"You sound very good to me, Professor," Hermione breathed. Her entire body was tingling from head to toe and she wished with all her heart that he would just—show her.

"Call me Severus."

* * *

A/N: Another little bit. I'm draaaawing it out, aren't I? It's just fun to write Snape like this, especially his dialogue. No roughrider here. A tender Snape will do, too.


	6. Worship 1

**Chapter 6 ~ Worship 1**

"Severus," Hermione said softly, feeling a bit strange at using his given name. It was such a large leap in breaking down the fences of decorum. Addressing Snape as 'Professor' was a way of mentally keeping him at arm's length and acknowledging his authority over her. It placed him outside of her personal space.

But using his name gave him a personal identity as a human being, an individual beyond his position. Calling him Severus made him suddenly accessible—someone equal, someone she could meet on more balanced terms. It made him an ordinary man to some extent, although Hermione knew Severus Snape was far from ordinary.

Still, it felt so intimate to say his name and feel the soft syllables roll over her teeth, tongue and lips. There were no harsh, guttural vocalizations in the pronunciation, in fact, even saying his name was sensual, first the soft S hissed through the teeth, then the slight V bite of the lower lip, then the easy, languorous purr of the R, finished by another soft, tantalizing and intimate pronouncement of "us" so filled with promise.

Severus.

Hermione never realized how sexy his name sounded when spoken, even as it described his outwardly severe nature. But, he wasn't being severe now. Learning about this gentle side to the wizard made him even more of a dichotomy, so—complex. Someone completely different from the assumptions made about him because of the life he'd led. So many had been so wrong about the man, she among them.

Gods, she wanted this.

"Turn around," Snape said softly, gently turning her so her back was facing him. Hermione turned, tense and expectant, but not knowing what to expect. Snape stepped a bit closer, close enough to feel the heat of her body, but not coming into contact with it. Still, Hermione could feel his warmth, too, and trembled involuntarily.

Snape reverently placed his hands lightly on her shoulders, feeling her soft, wet skin beneath his palms. Slowly, he drew his hands down her arms, caressing them, feeling her slight musculature, his fingertips moving slightly, Hermione sighing as he completed the journey to the back of her hands, then slipped his fingers between hers slowly. It felt sexual the way he did it, his digits sliding between hers with a slight but delicious friction.

He then gently swung her arms outward, arcing them upward until they were above her head, then again, he caressed her arms, slowly, tenderly, as if touching the most precious treasure on the face of the planet, his hands following the lines and subtle undulations of her flesh, slipping over her elbows, the soft skin of her armpits, over the ridges of her ribcage, the dip of her waist, swell of her hips and smoothness of her thighs. Hermione felt like purring at the gentle thrill of his touch, which left a tingling trail of warmth imprinted on her skin, and she sighed as he moved her hair to one side with one hand, then wrapped both arms around her belly and pulled her back against him, his chest resting against her back as he kissed her throat and held her.

Hermione could feel Snape's pulsing erection resting against her buttocks, but he didn't grind into her. He simply held her, curled around her, his chin now resting on her shoulder, his cheek pressed to hers. Still, the contact was so intimate, she was so aware of his warmth, the contact of his skin against her own, the hardness of his body complementing the softness of her own. It felt—perfect.

His eyes closed, Snape breathed in deeply and let out a satisfied sigh, his arms still wrapped around Hermione's soft middle. Contact. How he had missed this kind of embrace, the feel of a woman, soft, feminine, accessible. He kissed her throat again, lingering over it, feeling the pulse of her artery beneath his lips and savoring the wellspring of life in his arms. How could she not know how beautiful she was? How could she think he wouldn't want to partake of that beauty? That he wouldn't want to lose himself in the wonder that was Hermione Granger?

Hermione felt his arms loosen slightly.

"Turn around," he breathed again.

He held her close so he could feel the delicious slide of her flesh against his, the softness of her breasts sliding across his chest, the fullness of her hips as they slid against his loins, catching his erection for a luscious moment before they were pelvis to pelvis, Hermione looking up at him with liquid eyes, his arms still locked around her, resting in the dip between back and buttocks.

"Severus," Hermione breathed as if his name was an invocation, a magic she was summoning, her intent powerful and compelling as he lowered his mouth to hers and kissed her tenderly, suckling on her lips, drawing away and pulling at them, before returning again and again, lost in their warmth, softness and willingness. Her mouth was sweeter than the sweetest confection and more intoxicating than the strongest libation.

As Snape kissed her repeatedly, Hermione felt a kind of intoxication of her own, the world around them losing reality, the only thing real was the softness of Snape's lips pressing against her own, gentle, overpowering, making her feel disembodied and nearly lost as he kissed her again and again, his head turning this way and that as he indulged himself. Hermione pressed into him harder, her body anxious now. Patience? What was that? Her body had a mind of its own. But if Snape felt her growing urgency, he didn't act on it immediately. His hands began to move again, over her back, smoothing over her spine, shoulder blades, sides and the topmost swell of her buttocks.

He didn't grope. He petted, caressed, and smoothed, Hermione aware of every tiny callus, every roughened patch on his hands. A man's hands, careful, reverent and gentle.

He was driving her mad already. Hermione opened her mouth, wanting to feel him slip his tongue inside so she could taste him, his fire. Snape continued to simply suckle on her lips, content with that for now. Yes, he really was slow. Delicious—but far too slow.

"Severus," Hermione whimpered, the need in her voice clear. Snape responded, easing his tongue into her mouth and wrapping it around Hermione's own supple muscle, tangling, sliding and lapping sensuously, almost lazily at her heat. Hermione felt a sharp pulse between her thighs and gasped into his mouth, her body quaking. Snape pulled away, looking down at her, his eyes glittering with pleasure at their interaction.

"Patience," he breathed. "Worship takes time, Hermione."

* * *

A/N: Annnd, a little more. My black and mild is finished and I'm smokeless right now. Smokes are part of the process for lemony parts. Lol. If I can scrounge up some change, I'll probably write the finishing chapters of this today. I think there will be two more. I've already come up with what I think will be a satisfying ending for a story this short. Thanks for reading. ***


	7. Worship 2

**Chapter 7 ~ Worship 2**

Dressed in a Tartan housecoat, Tartan slippers and with a Tartan towel tucked under one arm, Headmistress Minerva McGonagall flip-flopped toward the Prefect's bathroom, ready for a luxurious soak and swim. She always waited late at night to indulge herself when the urge hit her. A nice, long immersion in lavender-scented bubbles just sounded perfect.

She reached the door to the bathroom and was just about to say the password, when she noticed the sign hanging on the knob.

"Out of Order."

"Oh, blast and bother," she hissed, incensed that no one told her the bath wasn't working. "Argus really needs to keep me abreast of these things."

Greatly disappointed, she padded her way back up the corridor, intending on giving Filch a long lecture about informing her of what was happening around the castle. Apparently, Snape did more than just peel off his robe once he made his decision to indulge Hermione. There was a lot to be said for taking precautions.

Snape kissed Hermione for a good forty-five minutes, the kissing becoming much more passionate as Hermione pulled on his body persistently, running her hands over his scars, pulling on his shoulders, pressing and rubbing herself against him wantonly as he hungrily and torturously continued his gently assault on her mouth, not allowing her to rush him. He still caressed her carefully, turning up the ardor, his hands slipping over her buttocks and the back of her thighs now. It was like stoking a fire, each caress adding to the heat nearly crackling between her legs. She was so turned on.

Hermione broke away from his kisses and panted, "I've never been snogged so much in all my life."

"I happen to enjoy snogging," Snape said softly, returning to her mouth.

Hermione felt ready to rape him, and might have tried if she thought she was strong enough to get the maddening wizard on his back. Suddenly, Snape slowly slid his hand between their bodies, the palm easing down her belly. Oh gods, was he going to touch her there? Please, let him touch her there.

But Snape's hand stopped just below her navel and just above her pubic hair, resting against her flesh, strong and unmoving.

"Oh gods," Hermione hissed, pressing against it insistently. Suddenly, she felt warmth emit from his touch, settling into her lower belly and tingling for a moment before the sensation ended.

"A contraceptive spell," Snape informed her, slowly walking her backwards toward the huge stack of fluffy towels, then turning slightly so he could reach them. With one hand he unceremoniously knocked them over, scattering them on the tiled floor. There were so many, they covered the approximate area of a queen-sized bed. Instant mattress ala Snape.

Hermione was more than ready to sink down to the floor and tried to pull away from Snape, who held on to her for a moment, then easily swooped her up into his arms. She let out a little surprised shriek as he kissed her yet again.

"Allow me," he said softly, then eased down to one knee and gently placed Hermione on the fluffy towels as if he were arranging her. She looked up at him as he carefully arranged her still damp hair, fanning it out around her head, his eyes appreciative. He continued kneeling as he gazed down on her body, swallowing as he drank her in.

"I feel like a starving man presented with a banquet of the most delightful fare on earth," he said to her, licking his lips slightly. "You're absolutely edible."

He lifted Hermione's hand and suckled the back of it, smacking his lips slightly, then letting out a sigh of pleasure.

"I can taste you now," he said softly. "And smell you."

"What?"

"I can taste you. I wanted your flavor, but you had bathed and stripped away that intoxicating scent and taste. It took time to make your natural sweetness return. Thus, the kisses," he told her. "I wanted you to—perspire."

"You purposely made me sweat?"

"Yes, so I could do this," he said, lightly licking her wrist.

"And this—"

He pulled her arm upward and kissed the skin were her arm bent.

"And this—"

He leaned down and pressed his lips against her armpit, which sent a tickling thrill shuddering through her.

"And this—"

He kissed the area where her neck met her body, suckling gently as he slowly stretched out beside her, rolling her on her side and lifting her arm so it rested over her head . . .

And so started the slow torture and abject worship of one Hermione Granger as Snape slowly kissed his way down one side of her body, nibbling, licking, suckling and murmuring his delight as his mouth followed her curves and contours, moving over her rib-cage, waist and hips, thighs and calves, then making love to her foot, adoring the delicate arch, well-turned ankles and wriggling toes as she arched and cursed quite a bit. He didn't seem to notice her pulling his hair as he rolled her to her other side and made his way back up her body.

Hermione's nipples were so tight with desire they hurt, and she wanted to feel his hands and mouth on them, but he only rubbed her belly and thighs as he familiarized himself with those parts of her body most men take for granted. He wasn't looking for common erogenous zones. He was looking to make his own.

By this time, Hermione felt as if she were one big erogenous zone. Every place he touched, or grazed or pressed, burned for more contact, more closeness, more—more Snape.

"Oh, Severus—I want you to—"

"Just be patient with me a little while longer, Hermione," Snape breathed as he suckled her fingers. "Just a few moments more, please."

"Arrgh," Hermione hissed, closing her eyes. Then she felt him pull at her, turning her on her stomach. Then, she felt his welcome weight as he lay on top of her back. He felt delicious and she humped her buttocks against the hardness resting against it, rewarded by a garbled hiss as Snape reacted. Then, he slid downward, moving his erection away from her plump soft flesh. Hermione could have cried before his lips connected with her shoulders and he began to work his way down, licking, kissing, running his tongue along her spine, kissing the dimples of her lower back, his hands still caressing, moving, keeping contact. His lips slid over the smooth skin of her buttocks, his tongue dipping into the cleft and Hermione jerking at the slippery feel of it. Again, he kissed her legs, taking time on the sensitive back of her knees so her limbs shuddered. He rose to his knees and drew his hands down from her shoulders, over her back and arse and down her thighs, a dark fire in his eyes.

"So beautiful," he breathed, before lifting her leg and turning her over to her back and looking down at her. Hermione's eyes were wet, and her body undulating, arching upward. Snape leaned forward then stretched out over her, holding himself up on his hands, connecting with her mouth again, kissing her tenderly as he lowered himself on top of her, his erection, hot and pulsing resting directly on her sex. Hermione's arms wrapped around his lean frame as she hungrily returned his kiss, ready, so ready for more. Much, much more.

But, Snape still had the front of her body to go and Hermione clutched at the towels as his mouth finally moved down her body, to her aching breasts, his mouth warm and soothing as he suckled each tortured tip, then swirled his tongue over and between the full mounds, then under them, another area usually forgotten. Hermione slowly began to spread her legs as he moved lower, his mouth on her belly now, tonguing her navel as if lapping out honey.

Hermione could feel his warm breath on her pubic hair. She had never had anyone perform oral sex on her, Ron was too prudish although he selfishly wanted blowjobs and she wasn't sure she even wanted him licking down there, but Snape had her nose wide open, and her pussy was practically singing a show tune. It was so sensitive, pulsing, begging to be touched, caressed. She shifted anxiously, then let out a delighted cry as Snape's tongue firmly connected with her inner flesh, slow, wet and supple.

"Oh gods," she moaned, gripping his head without knowing it and pressing against his mouth wantonly. Snape didn't tickle or flit. He drew his tongue back and forth, breathing her in, tasting her fully and suckling her clit with determination. He was at the fruit, the apex of passion, the entrance to all bliss and he wasn't going to miss a drop of it.

Hermione keened, it felt so good. He moved to her inner thighs for a moment, collecting the glistening sheen of her lubrication and swallowing it down as if it were ambrosia from the gods. Her voice was like the voice of ages and fell on his ears like the sweetest symphony ever played. Yes. Hermione Granger was more than worthy of worship, and he felt his heart swell when she shuddered and released her gift with a soft cry. Thick, musky and all woman. He drank at her fountain like a man who had thirsted for a lifetime.

Finally, Hermione's undulations ceased, her hair partially plastered to her face as Snape drew himself slowly up her body, kissing it as he returned face to face to her, the scent of her emissions cloying and earth-like on his lips. Then he kissed her, sharing the bounty. She looked up at him, her eyes wide with wonder.

"Now," Snape said softly, shifting and reaching between their bodies, shifting the foreskin of his swollen organ down and back, revealing the sensitive pink glans for a moment before gently placing it against the sweet, hot depression between her thighs.

"Now, you become mine, Hermione Granger."

* * *

A/N: A little more. I just had to do a little heart-stopper with Minerva showing up. I bet some of you were like, OH NO! Not now! Lololol. And I'd like to give a big shout-out to L* who sent me a little change for my smokes. Good looking out girl. And I hope you enjoy the novel, Sahara. It's a hoot. :) Thanks for reading, everyone. ***


	8. Completion

**Chapter 8 ~ Completion**

Snape's black hair framed his pale face as he looked down at Hermione, his usually harsh features softened and less severe as he prepared himself for entry. He hovered, savoring the moment, his eyes locked to the eyes of the young woman beneath him, willing to open up to him, willing to receive him, willing to be one with him for one small moment.

Slowly, he slid inside Hermione, feeling her soft flesh give, then part snugly, wrapping around his length like a moist, velvet sleeve. He groaned down at Hermione, biting his lower lip with pleasure as he rested inside her tightness, feeling the pulse of her life around him.

"Oh, Severus," Hermione sighed as his hardness sunk inside her. Nothing she'd experienced before with Ron had ever felt so good or so perfect as their bodies locked together, connected. Snape filled that aching emptiness, fed her need for greater closeness as he pulsed inside her, unmoving. It was almost as if he were tailor-made to fit her body, the perfect girth and length.

Carefully, Snape lowered himself, using his hands to support his upper body weight. He drew back slowly, then pierced Hermione again, gentle, filling, the friction of his organ as it slid back into her body absolutely delicious.

"Ooh," Hermione moaned again at the sensation. He was moving so slowly it felt as if she could feel every inch and contour of his hot flesh inside her. The easy way he possessed her felt much more intimate and overpowering then a fast, pounding stroke. Snape didn't thrust. He delved, using his body sensuously, rolling his pelvis slowly, angling his penetration so Hermione could feel as much of him as possible, filling her deeply and holding, holding, before gently withdrawing.

He kissed her, doubling his tender invasion of her body, both his tongue and cock immersed in her heat, her bliss. Hermione's hands slid down Snape's lean back and over the tight contours of his flexing flanks, totally lost to his patient lovemaking. He slid against her, hot moist skin to hot moist skin, contact the most important part of their union. Contact, the thing he craved most in the world at this moment in time.

Theirs wasn't a frenzied coupling. There were no moments that Hermione felt Snape wasn't with her, wasn't feeling her as they flowed together, rising and falling like a living, slow-rolling tide, the sounds of their mingled voices echoing off the marble tiles, their bodies moist with perspiration and illuminated by the soft light surrounding them. She felt like an extension of him, and he an extension of her, no longer separate, but one passionate body riding the easy crest of their union to the pinnacle of ecstasy.

Snape rose to his knees, gently pulling Hermione's thighs around his waist and staring at her arching body as he continued taking her, looking down to where their bodies met from time to time, watching his cock disappearing into the soft pucker of her inner lips. His length was covered in creamy white lubrication, slick and thick, piling up at the base of his shaft like rich butter and small dollops of it clinging to his silky black pubic hair like pearls.

Hermione was exquisite, her body covered with a thin sheen, her hair back in ringlets, her voice sweet and passionate as she sighed and moaned her pleasure. The scent of her filled his nostrils, alluring, musky, rich as it rose from her straining, twisting form.

He wound his hips, turning her pelvis with him and felt her tightening, a shuddering purr issuing from her lips as her eyes closed and the wellspring opened again, bathing him in heat as her climax boiled over him.

"Yes," he said softly, his eyes fluttering against his own urge to let go. But not yet. He gently lifted her leg from around his body and turned her to her side, curling behind her, not losing contact, but staying with her. He wrapped his arms around her belly and returned to his stroke, flesh to flesh, embracing her tenderly, murmuring his pleasure in her ear and kissing her throat and shoulder.

Hermione was no longer a part of this world. The only reality and world was the world of the Potions master, moving in and out of her, lifting her, holding her, carrying her to another plateau so sweet, she could hardly stand it, her body feeling as if it were turning in on itself around the axis of his cock Again, she felt the tightening accompanied by an unbearably sweet, intense sensation deep inside her. It felt as if she were about to implode, drawn up into a tight little knot of insane pleasure. She heard Snape gasp, caught in the vise of her upcoming climax, Hermione's body choking him with a great, exhilarating pressure.

When she boiled over, so did he, gasping at each hot spurt of release and hissing at the heat that overflowed, splashing against his loins as Hermione reached her final, earth-shattering orgasm. He clutched her close, remaining curled around her shuddering body, shuddering along with her, satisfaction thrumming through him as they lay on the damp towels, panting softly.

Snape gently and tiredly kissed Hermione's shoulder. Just because he was an easy lover, it didn't mean he hadn't exerted himself. His body was covered in perspiration as he curled around Hermione, unwilling to let her go.

After about five minutes, Hermione softly said, "Severus?"

"Mmm?" he responded, his lips pressed against the pulse of her throat.

Hermione turned in his arms, her breasts pressing into his chest, and he shifted closer so they lay skin to skin, his flaccid cock resting on her thigh. Hermione looked into his dark, pleased eyes. She never realized how long his eyelashes were. She swept his hair out of his pale face so she could see his expression more clearly. Snape looked so relaxed, so unlike what she was used to. She felt she could ask him anything now. She took a steadying breath, then jumped right in.

"Are you seeing anybody?"

* * *

A/N: Ooh la la. Lol. I know it was rather short by itself, but coupled with the foreplay of the previous short chapters, I hope it was satisfying just the same. Thanks for reading. Next is the epilogue.


	9. Epilogue

Chapter 9 ~ Epilogue

Ronald Weasley was in a right tizzy, and it was because of two people. Hermione and Professor Snape. One problem didn't seem at all related to the other to the redhead, but something was going on.

Up to this point, the year had been great. He was famous, he had witches fawning all over him, and he was free to take them out because of the arrangement he'd made with Hermione. He signed autographs, did interviews and was asked to attend all the important functions. He'd finally arrived. He was no longer known for just being Harry's best friend, but for being a hero in his own right.

In Potions class, he had been doing all right. Snape pretty much left him alone as long as he did his work in a passable manner, and barely spoke to him at all. Ron believed it was because Snape had a near-death experience.

"I'm telling you," he told Harry, Hermione and Ginny, holding his thumb and forefinger just a millimeter apart, shaking them for emphasis. "Snape came this close to going to hell, and now he's trying to turn over a new leaf. He must have felt the flames or something."

And Hermione was the perfect doormat girlfriend. She was accepting of their arrangement of seeing other people, although she wasn't seeing anyone else, which suited Ron just fine. He liked knowing she was there for him when he wanted to see her.

Well, two weeks before the NEWTS, things changed, and not in a way he liked. Snape suddenly took an avid dislike of him, criticizing everything he did, giving him failing marks because he was a word over or under in his essays, or a parchment was a quarter inch short of a foot. One day, the Potions master tossed a red covered test on Ron's desk and said with a sneer, "Some people believe, Mr. Weasley, that despite your heroism, you are a perfect idiot."

Ron scowled up at him.

"I personally don't believe you're a perfect idiot. But—you do all right," Snape concluded, spinning and walking back to his desk with a billow of robes as the rest of the class laughed. Hermione just shook her head.

"What's wrong with the greasy bastard?" Ron demanded of Harry as they left the dungeons. "It's like he's treating me like I'm you."

Harry shrugged.

"Well, I don't like it," Ron muttered. Hermione walked with them, but didn't say a word. Ron was glad when class finally let out and they were going to take the NEWTS. He wouldn't have to deal with Snape for the rest of his life.

But, he'd also noticed changes in Hermione that he didn't particularly appreciate, although he couldn't quite put his finger on what was so different about her, other than she didn't seem so—so something. Needy, maybe? She didn't try to get his attention any longer, and when he ran into her one night after taking a walk around the castle with a doting and very accommodating Hufflepuff witch, Hermione simply greeted them with a smile and kept walking. She used to look upset.

Also, Hermione did an interview with Rita Skeeter. They were always asked to do interviews of all kinds. Hermione announced that this would be her last interview, that she would no longer be making appearances or signing autographs. She informed the public she was going to live as an ordinary private citizen and she hoped they would respect her wishes.

Ron couldn't believe it. How could she not want to be famous and have so many people admire her?

But that wasn't the worst of this. Hermione had developed this kind of—of sexiness, although she hadn't changed her hair, or how she dressed or anything. Other wizards noticed it too, and Ron noticed them noticing her. He was even asked by Dean Thomas if he minded if he asked Hermione out on a date.

"Hermione? Why?" Ron asked him, frowning.

"Why not? You're going out with other witches. I figured she wouldn't mind going out with me," Dean replied, frowning back at him.

"Well, you can ask her, but she's not going to do it," Ron said angrily.

Hermione did turn Dean down, to the relief of Ron. But, he still wanted to find out what was going on with her, so asked her to go to a movie in Muggle London before the NEWTS.

She turned him down, too. Ron was gobsmacked. He and Hermione hadn't gone anyplace together in ages. She had to be jonesing for him by now. He sat next to her on the sofa in the common room.

"No? Hermione, is this because I'm seeing other witches?" Ron asked her directly.

Both of Hermione's eyebrows rose.

"Oh, not at all, Ron. Actually, I think seeing other people is a good idea. At first, I wasn't thrilled about it, but you're right. We're far too young to settle down and not explore our options," she told him.

Ron looked shocked.

"What? Are you seeing somebody, Hermione?" he asked her.

"No, not yet. But, there is someone of interest. We've decided to wait until after graduation to hook up," she said with a smile.

"Who is it? Someone at Hogwarts?" Ron demanded, feeling extremely territorial now.

"Yes, it is. But I'm not going to tell you who it is."

"Why not?"

"Ron, I don't ask you who you're seeing do I? Because it's none of my business. The same goes for you."

Ron fumed at this. His perfect little world was falling apart. Hermione was going to see someone, probably even shag them. Of course, he saw nothing wrong with himself shagging a few witches, but Hermione shagging another wizard? That seemed so wrong on so many levels. But, he kept his cool.

"All right. How about a bit of snogging?" Ron suggested.

"I'm not really in the mood, Ron. I think I'll go to bed, now. Good night."

Hermione kissed Ron on the cheek and walked upstairs to her room, leaving him sitting on the sofa. She didn't even want to snog him? Something was definitely wrong. This wizard wasn't someone she was just going to see, he was sure of it. This git was going to try and take her away.

So, Ron began to watch Hermione closely, and tried his best to get her interested in him. He did manage to get her to go to Hogsmeade with him one evening, but nothing remotely romantic occurred. In fact, Hermione seemed to be acting a bit stuck up. As if she were too good for him or something. She was so confident now and when he snapped at her, she didn't even seem to care. They returned to the common room late and it was empty. Ron was mad because Hermione wanted to retire. He wanted something more.

"Do you want to break up with me?" he snarled at her.

"If you want to break up, Ron, that's fine."

"Well, I don't. I just want some attention."

"You get plenty of attention, Ron. You see a lot of witches," she replied. "And I did go out with you tonight."

"Yeah, but we didn't do anything. Anything intimate. We haven't shagged in forever."

Hermione frowned at him.

"Ron, just because we went out doesn't mean I have to automatically shag you."

"You used to do it."

"I used to do a lot of things. But people change. I'm not going to shag you just because you want me to. You have to earn this."

"What?"

"Earn this," Hermione said, sweeping her hand down her body for emphasis. "You heard me."

Ron didn't know what to say to that as Hermione walked up the stairs and left him.

They didn't talk again until after the NEWTS and Hermione settled into her private flat. As a graduation present, her father was paying her rent for sixth months.

Ron was feeling rather desperate now. It had been fun being up to his neck in willing witches, but the idea of Hermione doing something else with someone else just haunted him. He decided to tell her he wanted to be exclusive again. It was the only thing he could do. He showed up at her flat Friday night with a dozen roses and candy.

Hermione opened the door and looked at him in surprise.

"Ron?" she said, peering around him for a moment. "I wasn't expecting you."

"I know. I need to talk to you, Hermione. I brought you these. Flowers—and candy."

Hermione smiled and took the flowers and candy.

"Aw, thank you, Ron," she said taking the roses and candy into the living room and placing the flowers in a vase. She walked back toward the foyer.

Suddenly, Ron noticed how she was dressed. She was in a form-fitting green dress and heels. She was wearing a little make-up and her hair was softly curled.

"What are you dressed up for?" he asked her.

"Oh. I—I have a date," she said.

"A date? With who? That wizard you told me about?"

"Actually, yes. I thought you were him when you knocked."

Ron fell silent. Hermione blinked at him.

"Well, what did you want to talk to me about? I have a few min—"

Suddenly, there was a knock on the door.

"Oh, I guess I don't," Hermione said, stepping past Ron and opening the door. She gave who stood on the doorstep a bright smile as Ron stared in disbelief.

Snape slowly lifted Hermione's hand and gave the back of it a soft lingering kiss. Hermione eyes went half-lidded at the contact.

"Snape? You're seeing—you're going out with—with Snape?" Ron gasped, unable to believe his eyes. "Snape?"

Snape's black eyes shifted towards him, and the corner of his mouth curled.

"Weasley," Snape said in greeting as Hermione continued to stare at him, completely smitten. This was going to be their first night out together since the bathroom incident. She couldn't wait. Snape looked down at Hermione's dress and shoes.

"You look worthy of worship, Hermione," he said softly. "And I am your willing supplicant. Shall we go?"

"Oh yes," Hermione breathed, grabbing her summer shawl from a nearby coat rack. Snape draped it over her shoulders solicitously, and then wrapped his arm around her waist possessively, guiding her out the door. He looked back at Ron.

"Be sure to ward the door when you leave, Mr. Weasley," the wizard purred, then he and Hermione Disapparated into the night, and possibly, their future.

THE END

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A/N: And that's the end of this little PWP. Thank you so much for reading. ***


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